


but now I don’t walk alone

by sinistercacophony



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Gen, High School, Pre-Canon, Referenced Drug Use, i wanted this to be cuter than it ended up being, referenced abuse, they go to a wafflehouse at like 4am that counts as brotherly bonding right
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-02
Updated: 2021-02-02
Packaged: 2021-03-13 01:21:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29145102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinistercacophony/pseuds/sinistercacophony
Summary: Seeing Andrew— seeinghis twin— for the second time ever, coming through the arrival gates of the Columbia airport is surreal. Part of him had remained convinced that Andrew was just some specter, cooked up by the heat of the Californian summer, prying its way into Aaron’s desperate mind.Here in the airport he looks both bigger and much smaller than he had in that tiny visitation room. He’s not in the gray jumpsuit anymore, instead the all black, heavy boots, and ragged hoodie he's wearing make him look like a black hole in the middle of the baggage claim, sucking all the light into his depths.He looks tired.
Relationships: Aaron Minyard & Andrew Minyard
Comments: 13
Kudos: 79
Collections: AFTG Mixtape Exchange 2021





	but now I don’t walk alone

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nerdzeword](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nerdzeword/gifts).



> aaaa i'm so sorry this was late!!! i managed to overwhelm myself and then my brain turned off it was great TT.TT but anyway this was a super fun prompt!! i like n. flying a lot and was super happy to get a song by them!! the twinyards are awkward with each other as always but i tried to encapsulate that brotherly feeling 
> 
> also thank you so much to nat for betaing this on the fly!!! ur a lifesaver and also a grammar savior.
> 
> i hope you enjoy!! 
> 
> inspired by and titled after stand by me by n. flying!!

Seeing Andrew— seeing _his twin_ — for the second time ever, coming through the arrival gates of the Columbia airport is surreal. Part of him had remained convinced that Andrew was just some specter, cooked up by the heat of the Californian summer, prying its way into Aaron’s desperate mind. 

Here in the airport he looks both bigger and much smaller than he had in that tiny visitation room. He’s not in the gray jumpsuit anymore, instead the all black, heavy boots, and ragged hoodie he's wearing make him look like a black hole in the middle of the baggage claim, sucking all the light into his depths. 

He looks tired.

Mom’s nails are digging into the meat of Aaron’s arm, he realizes distantly. She’s tense and fidgety beside him, her smile stiff. She’d screamed and screamed at him when Luther had left after bluntly informing her that Andrew would be coming to live with them and she had no say in the matter. This morning she’d popped some pills and painted on a bright red smile— told him she couldn’t wait to meet Andrew, how she was sure he was lovely, that she really regretted not raising him and she’d love to see how he’s doing now. 

Aaron can’t tell if she’s trying to lie to him or to herself. 

Andrew is approaching now. He’s got a backpack slung over his shoulder, more grey than black and held together with what looks like nothing more than duct-tape and hope. His clothes look worn too; the sleeves of his jacket are torn full of holes, and the bottom of his jeans are frayed where they drag on the polished tile floor. 

When he finally comes to a stop in front of them his face is blank and dull. He glances Mom up and down with disinterest and doesn’t speak. 

The silence stretches. 

Mom is vibrating now, and her grip hurts. Aaron ignores it.  
Finally she lets out a falsely cheery exhale before she says, “Well, let’s get the rest of your bags and we can all get headed home.” 

Andrew inclines his head, he still hasn’t so much as looked Mom over. His voice is flat as he responds, “This is it. We can leave.” 

That backpack can’t possibly fit more than a couple changes of clothes, Aaron thinks, but Andrew carries his worldly possessions in a single half destroyed backpack with the confidence of someone who is long used to having nothing. He grew up in the foster system, Aaron reminds himself, he probably lost things a lot. 

Or had them taken, he doesn’t think. 

“Great!” Mom says, in a tone that indicates it is anything but, “Let’s head out then kids!” 

It feels strange, to be a plural now, Aaron’s not sure he’s ever going to get used to it. 

— 

Andrew only has two weeks to get settled in before school starts and the days pass oddly. He takes to sleeping in the downstairs study. There’s nothing but an old ratty sleeper sofa and stacks of boxes in there, but Andrew flat out turns down sharing a room with Aaron. All Mom can do is press her lips into a flat, irritated line in the face of Andrew’s disinterested assertion of himself into her space. 

The house feels small, all of a sudden. Where it used to feel empty and hollow, with Mom and Aaron rattling around inside like pills in a bottle, now the world feels stuffed with cotton. Mom keeps her voice down when she berates Aaron, still sharp and nasty but hushed with subterfuge and all the more violent for it, needles sliding under his skin under cover of darkness. She ignores Andrew entirely, despite her platitudes on the day he’d arrived. When they’re all in the same room sometimes she’ll look at Andrew like she’s looking through him, like he’s a ghost, haunting her.

Maybe he is, in a way. 

The first day of school feels equally odd. Aaron is forced to remember that he and Andrew are _twins,_ that there will be no hiding their connection, that there will be mutterings among his classmates, gossip and rumors and misinformation that Aaron won’t have the energy to correct. 

Lacie is waiting for him when they get off the bus, her cheer uniform bright red and perfectly pressed, her hair up in an immaculate ponytail. Aaron can see the bags under her eyes despite the amount of makeup she’s plastered on in an attempt to hide them. As soon as he’s broken free from the rest of the crowd pouring out she sidles up to him, pout already forming on her lips. There’s still ten minutes until class starts so Aaron leans himself against one of the pillars in front of the main building. 

“Hey Aaron, baby, I was wondering if you could do me a favor?” 

He’s annoyed at her, really. At the beginning of summer she’d decided they were done, and now she’s back with her pet names and her sticky smelling cherry perfume. He should be mad, probably, but mostly he’s just distracted by the way she presses up against his arm, the brush of her hair against his shoulder. 

“Uh— yeah sure. Maybe.” 

“Oh awesome, meet me at lunch okay?” and then she presses a kiss onto his cheek, short and firm before flitting away into the crowd. Aaron is briefly distracted watching her walk away, but when he finally tears away it’s straight into Andrew’s judgemental gaze. 

“Fucking what, dude.”

Andrew tilts his head. He’s so fucking weird, Aaron has started to realize. In the visitation room he’d seemed intimidating and potentially violent. He’d acted like he had all the power and it gave Aaron the impression Andrew was a being of seething anger and infinite patience. 

Here he just looks like a high schooler.

Andrew doesn’t say anything, he just looks at Aaron, face unreadable, and then walks away. 

Whatever. Aaron’s not interested in him sticking around anyway.

The day passes in a haze. He fields questions about Andrew with as minimal explanation as possible. He’s not popular enough for most people to care, but for some reason people seem to think them being twins is some huge mystical thing. Aaron doesn’t fucking get it. 

At lunch he goes back behind the dumpsters and finds Lacie. She wants pills and she wants to get back together and she wants to complain about the cheer team. Aaron nods along idly, fidgeting with the zipper on his hoodie. 

The next day he gets her the drugs. 

— 

Aaron’s favorite hobby is getting stoned out of his mind and playing Call Of Duty until he passes out. Mom had gotten him the Xbox in one of her guilty phases and Aaron hides it in his room, along with the shitty TV he got from the used electronics store with the cash he’d managed to steal from Mom’s wallet when she was passed out in the tub one day.  
She doesn’t come into his room anyway, she just yells from the bottom of the stairs and expects him to come to her, so he’s managed to hide the fact that he has them. He’s pretty sure Mom has forgotten about the Xbox entirely. 

He’s not expecting Andrew to just walk in as he’s swearing ferociously into his headset at his fucking moron teammates who can’t get their shit together enough to coordinate an attack. 

He doesn’t have time to say anything before Andrew is dropping down heavily on the floor next to him, same blank expression on his face as always, now tinged with curiosity. He watches clinically as Aaron plays. Aaron can never get a fucking read on him, and this is no different, really. 

He’s distracted enough that he gets headshotted. After swearing colorfully he turns to Andrew with exasperation, “Dude, what do you fucking want?”

Andrew’s intonation never changes, really, “I’m watching you.” 

“Why.” 

There’s a long pause. For a moment Andrew seems almost hesitant. “I’ve never played before.”

“What, Call of Duty?” 

Andrew looks away, “Video games. I did not ever live somewhere that had them.” 

Aaron vividly remembers being seven and obsessed with pokemon (Mom had smashed his gameboy a few years later, but whatever). He remembers all the kids at school talking about games they played or owned— little plastic figures and who had a playstation and what games. He remembers kids at the edges, whose parents were too poor, or too strict, who always seemed to linger at the edges of conversations. 

He has a hard time imagining Andrew as one of those kids. 

Aaron bites his lip for a moment. Another round is about to start. 

He offers Andrew the controller, “Wanna try?” 

— 

They start talking a little, after that. Andrew asks a lot of questions. About Mom, about Lacie, about other girls he’s dated. About how he gets money and what he spends it on, who his weed dealer is, what Mom does for work, how often she passes out drunk in the living room. About Luther and Maria and where Nicky is and why. 

Aaron answers as much as he can. He wants Andrew to like him, for some reason. There’s this deep, empty part of him that wants nothing more than for Andrew to find him worthy of— of— he doesn’t know what. Love? That sounds gay—- and stupid— so he ignores the thought. He doesn’t need love, he just wants Andrew to think he’s cool, to think he’s someone that could be worth something, maybe. 

He can’t get Andrew to tell him much in return though, as hard as he tries. He gets tidbits. Andrew grew up in foster care, it wasn’t great, California is hot, he was in juvie for attempted arson, the pigs suck, he thinks Halo is better than Call of Duty, he doesn’t like fruit but he likes candy. If Aaron uses his lunch break to sneak to the gas station just off school grounds to buy snacks, he can get Andrew a bag of jolly ranchers. Andrew will accept it with something almost like approval. 

So things are going okay, mostly. Mom isn’t as bad as she usually is, with Andrew in the house. Aaron is waiting patiently for the other shoe to drop, as the days pass with an almost alarming swiftness. Aaron’s perception of himself feels warped and foggy, and he spends as much time as he can afford high. Part of Aaron can feel the tension building, can feel Mom’s frustration with work in her passive aggressive asides. She’s started squinting at Andrew with a sort of vague frustrated confusion, these days, like he’s something she’s sure she’d misplaced.

Sometime she’ll make them all eat together. The dining room table is covered in bills, garbage and dishes, so they all sit in the living room in silence, paper plates on their laps, staring at each other warily. 

It’s a weeknight that the tension breaks. It’s late, Aaron’s not sure how late, past midnight at least, and he’s doing his best to scrape together an essay for his english class tomorrow. He’d popped some adderall that he’d bought off a kid in his science class. He feels jittery and displaced, like the world isn’t quite real. Part of that might be the sleep deprivation though. Aaron has been stalked by unease for weeks, and as a consequence has barely been able to sleep. Usually he’ll get home from school with Andrew and pass out for a couple hours after popping some Xanax he stole from Mom, but for some reason that doesn’t seem to be helping all that much. 

It’s the yelling that tips him off. It’s coming from downstairs, the familiar sharp curses spiking through the air, muffled through the walls but no less painful for it. Aaron finds himself flinching out of habit. 

For a second he assumes she’s yelling at someone over the phone. Her dealer maybe. It’s not uncommon, really, and he’s used to riding it out. It’s not like he had plans to leave his room tonight anyway. 

It’s not until he hears a filtered, “— you ungrateful fucking _brat—_ ” that he remembers that Andrew’s room is downstairs.

 _I should just stay up here,_ he thinks, _Andrew can handle himself._

He can. He doesn’t need Aaron to help him. But there’s a web of guilt spinning itself in Aaron’s chest; he is caught dangling and helpless inside. 

Creeping down the stairs feels like going to an execution. There’s a shattering of glass, a shriek, and then Mom yells, “ _Get out of my house you fucking— monster!_ I should have gotten rid of you permanently when I had the chance!” 

Oh, that again. Distantly, Aaron wonders if Mom even knows which of them she’s yelling at. He’s still hovering anxiously at the bottom of the stairs, too worried to leave and too afraid to go into the kitchen when Andrew storms out, face like a thundercloud, derision clear in the wrinkle of his brow. He sees Aaron but doesn’t seem interested in acknowledging him, stalking through the living room and towards the front door. He’s rummaging through the coat rack, already opening the door before Aaron processes what’s happening. He’s leaving. Doing what Mom wants. He’s leaving Aaron alone. 

There’s some sort of existential panic that overtakes Aaron as the door slams behind Andrew. He can’t be alone. He can’t. He’ll— something bad. He can’t do this alone. 

Andrew hasn’t really done much since he showed up. He’s asked some probing questions, trashed Aaron at Call of Duty more than once, but mostly he’s lingered on the edges of the familiar worn patterns of Aaron’s life. But— 

Somehow Aaron feels a kind of solidarity from him, from his flat observatory gaze, the way his eyes will linger on the bruises on Aaron’s wrists, the wrinkle in his forehead when he found Aaron drunk out of his mind on the bathroom floor and hauled him to bed. 

The thought that Andrew might leave sinks in Aaron’s stomach like an anchor. 

He’s outside before he fully realizes it, feet shoved into his sneakers without socks. He forgets to grab a jacket but the heat of his panic prevents him from feeling the sting of cold on his skin. 

He has to run down the street to catch up to Andrew’s retreating back. There’s no way he’s not loud as all sin but Andrew doesn’t even turn around. 

“Andrew.” 

Andrew doesn’t stop, but he shortens his stride. Aaron finally manages to catch up to him. 

Aaron is catching his breath, and abruptly he realizes he has no clue what to say. So he doesn’t. He just walks with Andrew, his breath fogging the air in front of him. Andrew is walking like he has a purpose, turning down streets like he knows exactly where he’s going, and Aaron drifts awkwardly along in his wake. 

It’s fucking cold, he realizes too late. At least he’d remembered shoes. 

Andrew takes them to a Waffle House. The neon yellow sign, the glaring fluorescent lights, the apathetic staff who take their orders, it’s all familiar and weirdly comforting, in a way. Andrew orders waffles and Aaron orders a black coffee and they sit across from each other. Mirrors that have been misaligned, reflecting back at each other wrong. 

They don’t speak. 

Aaron wonders if Andrew’s really going to leave. It feels like he’s been lurking in the background of Aaron’s life forever, even though it really hasn’t been that long at all. 

He doesn’t ask. He drinks his coffee and he watches Andrew cut his waffles into tiny little squares that he dumps individually into his syrup and he wonders if either of them are going to live long enough to have spent more time in each other's lives than they have without. 

Odds are low, Aaron calculates. Andrew, behind his flat exterior, seems just as disconnected from his own existence as Aaron does some days. 

The restaurant is only marginally warmer than it is outside, but Aaron barely feels it. He’s disconnected from himself, like he’s floating away. He’s not really sure why— nothing really bad happened, honestly, just some yelling and then they left. Mom will let him back in come morning. Probably. 

“What’d you even say to piss Mom off so much?” 

Andrew looks up from where he’s focusing very hard on sawing his food to tiny bits. For a moment Aaron is sure he won’t answer. 

“She thought I was stealing from her. Apparently her Xanax keeps going missing.” 

Aaron flinches at that. 

“Sorry.” 

Andrew gives a dismissive flick of his fingers, “I do not care. She would find another reason to be mad, if not that. There is always something, after all.” He says it like it’s inevitable. It probably is. 

“You’re not leaving right?” 

Andrew blinks slowly, “And where would I go?” 

“I don’t know. Wherever the fuck you want, I guess.” There’s an ache in Aaron’s chest, at the thought of that kind of freedom. 

There’s some quality in Andrew’s voice that Aaron can’t read when he responds, “Would you come with me?” 

It’s not an offer, just a question. A thin hypothetical over a gaping wound. 

Aaron swallows heavily. He knows what the answer should be. He knows he should want to leave, want to run and run until Mom can’t slide her thin, sharp nails into his hair and yank, until her bruising grip and hissed threats fade into memory. 

He thinks about the way she holds him when she’s drunk sometimes, and sobs about how she wants to be better, she’s _trying_ to be better, how she loves him and how she’s the only one that loves him. He thinks about her drowning in a pile of her own vomit, or sitting in the garage inhaling car exhaust, because he _abandoned_ her. 

“No,” he wouldn’t. Couldn’t. 

Andrew tilts his head, and Aaron had been convinced that was the wrong answer but his voice is even and accepting when he says, “Then I will stay.” 

He’ll stay. For _Aaron._

Aaron isn’t worth much, but he’s too pathetic not to accept that. 

Andrew finishes eating in silence and then stands to leave. He drops some cash on the table and walks away without bothering to check

Aaron still feels wrong footed, following him, but there’s nothing he can do but be tugged along. 

They don’t go back to the house. Aaron’s fingers have gone numb in the cold by the time they reach Andrew’s next destination. It’s one of the parks near the library, with a jungle gym and swings glistening eerily in the dark. 

Andrew starts climbing. He’s far too big for it really. He’s just as short as Aaron but they’re both broad, and wide. Andrew has to turn his shoulders to get through the child sized openings. 

He’s heading for the top. Aaron watches distantly as he hauls himself onto the roof of the tallest tower. It’s probably not more than 15 feet off the ground but it’s enough to make Aaron nervous. 

For a moment they just look at each other. Andrew down from his perch, like some sort of haunting spectre, dispassionate and distant. 

Aaron starts to climb up. 

It’s easy enough to swing up next to Andrew. Aaron isn’t particularly physically fit but he lifts enough weights during gym class that at the very least he’s capable of climbing. 

There’s not really much to see, honestly. Just tips of houses peeking over the trees. The flat sameness of the suburbs. The sky is scattered loosely with stars, but they’re cold and distant from each other. 

Andrew is looking down, almost transfixed by the playground mulch, although Aaron can’t fathom what could be that interesting. 

Eventually Andrew shifts a little, reaching into the pocket of his jacket and pulling out a lighter and a box of cigarettes. He lights one, inhaling sharply in the night air and then breathing the smoke out with an exhausted familiarity. 

He offers Aaron the box. 

Aaron doesn’t smoke, it’s addictive and tastes bad and mostly just too expensive of a habit for Aaron to keep. He hasn’t really had a cigarette since middle school, but Andrew doesn’t just _offer_ things, and Aaron can’t turn him down now. 

The smoke burns in Aaron’s lungs, but he manages not to cough like an idiot as he inhales. 

They sit. 

Andrew exhales smoke, like some sort of dragon— fire and brimstone and a built up rage that Aaron has only seen fleeting glimpses of. 

Just as the sun starts to bleed red over the tips of the treetops, Andrew finally breaks the silence.

“How about we make a deal.”

**Author's Note:**

> hope you enjoyed!! comment and kudos are always appreciated! if you want to come chat or yell at me i'm [sinistercacophony](https://sinistercacophony.tumblr.com) on tumblr :DDD


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